


a different kind of routine

by comets



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cuddles, Domesticity, Fluff, Oneshot, Other, werewolf boyfriend, werewolf shifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comets/pseuds/comets
Summary: You and your werewolf boyfriend spend the evening together and snuggle in to sleep after.
Relationships: werewolf/reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	a different kind of routine

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Just to clarify, here are the meaning of the Hatian Creole words Rashid uses:
> 
> Bebe - Baby  
> Cheri - Sweetheart
> 
> used from here: https://www.haitiancreole.net/sweetheart-baby/amp/

As you finish up a document on your laptop, you hear a key push itself into the front door’s lock. The tumblers within the lock click into place slowly as the key turns. You know it is your boyfriend, coming home from work late as he told you he would. You vaguely recall the short text conversation between the two of you earlier that day.

_ You: Might make stir-fry for dinner. Home around 7? _

_ Rashid: Getting held back, maybe 8. Extra meat please? _

_ You: Okay, steak? Or lamb? _

_ Rashid: Lamb _

Adjusting the blankets on your lap, you scoot forward from the corner of the large L-shaped couch. Truth be told, everything in your shared apartment was larger than it was in normal homes. The ceilings were vaulted high, and the doorways were eight feet tall. All of the furniture was either custom-built or bought from companies that cater to “larger beings”. You always chuckle at that: no one put werebeings or half-giants on their sites, but everyone knew who they were meant for. The door swings open and Rashid trudges in. He closes the door with a gentle hand and bends to untie his work boots.

“ _ Bebe _ ,” his bass-filled timbre calls to you tiredly. You look up and smile. He likes to use Creole words with you, even though he has to explain what some of them mean half the time. Though this one you’ve heard enough times to know well enough.

“Yes?” you reply, saving the document to your files and closing it. It wasn’t needed for another couple of days, and you cared much more about your tired partner.

“I swear I am surrounded by  _ idyo _ .” He frees his socked feet from his boots. “Somebody spilled concrete all over some tools and didn’t  _ say anything. _ ”

“And you had to clean them off again?” You throw the blanket onto the couch cushions and rise. He huffs, which you take as a yes. You make your way to him, and he pulls you into a tight embrace. Sometimes it is easy for you to forget just how big he is. Rashid stands at a towering six feet, nine inches tall with a muscled physique to match. He easily lifts you off of your feet and buries his nose into your hair. You feel him inhale as a few of his long, thin dreadlocks cascade over his shoulder like a curtain. You curl your arms about his neck. He does this often, breathing in your scent as often as he can. He opted to sleep curled up around you, wear your scarves in the winter when he could, nearly anything that would leave your scent with him for hours after. 

One of your hands plays at the loose bun of locs at the back of his head. You can smell him, too. Cut pine wood, sweat, and his own familiar musk fill your senses. You feel weightless in his arms, but are easily brought back when his stomach growls.

“Let’s talk over dinner, alright?” He groans appreciatively in response. Rather than setting you down, he places a forearm beneath your thighs and pulls you up higher. You are able to place your cheek atop his head. Absently, you think about how his hair will need retwisting soon as he makes his way to the dining table. He hums softly as you scratch at a spot behind his ear. 

“I’ll fix everything, so just sit,” you offer. Rashid shakes his head as he places you in a chair. He pets your head with an expansive hand.

“I got it,  _ cheri _ .” He leaves you for a moment to plate the food you left on the stove. When you inch to get up and help him, his hazel eyes snap to you. His expression is serious yet playful. You settle back into your chair as he smiles. “You get so restless. Just  _ relax _ .”

When he returns with the food and water, you two converse and eat sporadically. You enjoy this side of him just as much as any other: domestic, soft. His laughter is quiet and floats on the air like music. You reply to a statement with a quip, and he gives you a toothy grin, his oversized canines flashing in the light. His rich brown skin leaves contrast against the white of his teeth. His nostrils flare as he snorts at a joke you tell, making his slightly flat nose seem wider. Sharp eyes focus on you between bites of food. Full lips curl into a secretive smirk when his leg finds yours beneath the table.

Before you know it, your meal is finished. Both of you are yawning, tired from the day’s activities. You push your chair back from the table and stand.

“Go ahead and shower, I’ll clean up.” He nods his assent before helping you clear the table. As you turn on the water, he is unbuttoning his work shirt. He strips on the way to the bathroom. Work shirt, tank top, pants, socks, and boxers, in that order, lie abandoned and wrinkled in his wake. You hear the shower come to life and set about washing the dishes.

You store the rest of the dinner as leftovers for tomorrow. Humming, you close the fridge and head to the back of the apartment, to the master bedroom. The shower is off and the blow dryer is roaring behind the bathroom door. You know he never takes long to dry off, so you switch out of your sweatpants and t-shirt and into your pajamas. 

When the door to the bathroom opens, Rashid is completely bare. His locs are loose and some hang down over his ears and drape onto his shoulders. You are in the middle of the overly large bed, waiting. Some nights, like tonight, it is hard for you to tell if he’ll sleep in his human form. But when he approaches the bed instead of going to the dresser, you assume he won’t be. His shift is slow, leaving you to watch the transformation.

Bones crack and shift. He haunches over, muscles reshaping themselves. Then he is on all fours. Hands and feet round out to paws. His nose and mouth elongate into a snout. Jet black fur sprouts from all over his body and is accented by streaks of brown. In minutes, he no longer resembles a man. He lifts himself onto the bed, a wolf double the size of any you had ever seen. Your eyes lock, and his are not hazel, but a familiar, burning red.

He presses his nose to your upper arm before he moves to walk behind you. You feel the bed dip as he settles in and lies down. His body is curled around you in a loose C-shape with his head raised to look at you. You lie back onto his midsection. Pulling the sheet and comforter up to your chin, you nuzzle your face against his side.

“Good night, baby. I love you.”

He nudges your head with his snout and lays his head over one of his legs. His heart beats steadily in your ears, quickly pulling you off to sleep.


End file.
